So I sit alone upon a throne, in the heart of a two thousand foot tall armored pyramid that towers over a sea of sand burnt largely to glass. They told me Alabastia had declared war. I closed my left eye first, opened it, did the same to the right.
Still there, all of the entourage, my vizier wringing his paws. The raccoon kept his eyes downcast, studying striations of gold flecked marble as if it were a map of his soul.
My ears went back, I felt my lips twist into a dark snarl, and from far away I heard my voice softly say "Summon my generals."
There was rage, it's true, though that fire was muted by an icy calm. Expected, envisioned, these are not true preparations of reality. It's like a soldier who loads a gun before knowing the front. Adversity has taught me the magic of emotions however, to resist them and their hold on the psyche one has to be an escape artist, master internal nature. Houdini chained up underwater, the existential reality of an atomic bomb, losing someone you love more than anyone else in the entire world and the morbid mountain moving task of 'moving on' instead of getting wasted and blowing your head off. Free solo, up a cliff face, every last decision you make an existential contribution to success or a deadly fall.
Everyone wants to be a king, yet precious few know what that takes in times of war. They only see palaces of prestige, placid peace, being rich. In truth, where it truly counts, that's not at all what it's about. History is part of it, heavier than the piece of metal and rocks upon the skull, yet the worst of it is wondering how many people are going to die in a conflict if you're cursed with a conscience.
The nobles dispersed, whispering softly amongst themselves. Most would flee the capital of course, get as far away from the Pyramid as they possibly could, in convoys overflowing with cash and treasure. Fair weather friends, the lot of them, possessing pre arranged havens in foreign lands, and though I knew I could stop that, I also knew I wouldn't. I wasn't sure why.
[i]Everyone should have a choice while they can choose,[/i] something whispered.
I became captivated by a nearby brazier, the crackle of the fire, a pillar vanishing up into cavernous darkness, contemplated the countless tons of stone and steel. Bullets, skeletons, winter. Tanks, battleships, jet fighters and a grayness. Their cowardice was a minor matter.
I rose, tore the crown from my head and cast it aside. The clatter of gold on marble sounded thunderous in that empty cavernous place, seemed to last a lifetime. Twenty cyborg elite guards appeared to take no notice of this, standing statue still in the shadows.
My left eye glowed bright red, the miniature nuclear reactor implanted in my chest powering up the laser that had granted me the name "Death Gaze", and an instant later there was a molten hole the size of a semi truck tire whose heart bubbled with yellow slag. The smell of burnt stone and liquified metal filled the throne room.
I turned to the captain of the guard, a scarred and grim tower of a wolf more than half a machine. "Bring me my mask and armor."
He bowed low, one paw on the hilt of his sword and the other over his heart. "Sir."